Inside India’s largest potters’ colony

It is with a simple prayer that Mansingh Prajapati begins his day every morning. Not the ritualistic lighting of lamps or incense sticks and the chanting of mantras that are often the norm in Indian households. Instead, for this 35-year-old hailing from a family of potters, obeisance to the gods and invoking their blessings involves the crafting of an earthen diya (lamp) on his rickety motorised wheel.

Hence, each new day as he sits down to work, he begins by throwing in a small, moist lump of clay at the wheel head and with the deft movement of his hands and the gentle pressure of his thumb and index fingers, he shapes and smooths the greyish mixture into the desired shape. His experienced hands then snap it from the wheel head with a thin wire and he quickly pinches a corner to give the lamp its definitive appearance, before setting it aside to harden.

All it takes is two seconds for him to shape the traditional diya but for Mansingh, this is the most important part of his day as it not just symbolises his respect for the craft but also signifies, through this humble offering, his submission to the supreme power. As the day progresses, he is likely to spin anywhere from 2,500 to 3,000 diyas, especially prior to the various Hindu festive seasons. It will be another three to four days before the sun-dried diyas are coated with red clay sourced from the nearby Aravalli hill range, dried again, then baked in the kiln, decorated with traditional motifs and made ready for use.

Mansingh is originally from Alwar, a semi-arid, drought-prone district in Rajasthan but has been living on the outskirts of Delhi for the past eight years now. It was a severe drought in 1968-69 that first saw potter families from Alwar move to Delhi. Initially they settled down in Motia Khan, now in central Delhi, and the steady demand for their products saw more potter families migrate to the city in search of better prospects. But as Delhi developed, the settlement of potters was also forced to move to the periphery of the constantly expanding city. Their numbers have grown since then and today, the 700-odd potter families carry on with their traditional craft in an area known as Sainik Enclave, behind Vikaspuri in west Delhi.

As India’s largest potters’ colony, this place is increasingly being referred to as Kumhar Gram, literally “potters’ village”. Kumhars or Prajapatis are a caste or community of potters across India who eke out a livelihood by making earthen utensils and claim descendance from the sons of Brahma, the Hindu deity of creation.

Kumhar Gram would have passed off as just another obscure Indian village were it not for the sight of stacked-up earthen flowerpots, clay water jugs and diyas that spill over on to the lanes and alleyways of its narrow winding roads and are also found drying in rows on rooftops. Fairly large brick houses, each with a rustic kiln, line up on either side of the road; yet, only a tenth of the space is used for living purposes. The rest serve as drying or storing areas for this space-intensive occupation.

Some of the homes here feature cracked water pots embedded in the mud-brick walls. Constructed in the traditional architectural style of Alwar, these serve to trap a layer of air that keeps houses cool in summer and warm during winter.

For more than four decades now, it is this colony of potters that has been supplying the capital city with utilitarian earthenware for homes, nurseries and roadside eateries, and even biryani handis (a wide-mouthed cooking vessel) for five-star hotels.

Gamlas (flowerpots), matkas (wide, short-necked water pots), surahis (earthen pots with tall narrow necks) and gulaqs (piggy banks) comprise more than 85 per cent of the work produced here, explains Mansingh. “Flowerpots of all sizes are in great demand throughout the year. However, most of the other objects we make have only a seasonal value, especially the festive items. During summer, the market is ripe for matkas and surahis as people like to drink cool water.”

Wall decor, evil eye hangings, foot scrubs, basil pots, bird-feeders and other ornamental stuff form part of the other products they make. “Most of these are decorative and do not require the use of the wheel. Instead, moulds are used to create patterns and women undertake the task of decorating them,” Mansingh says.

In India, pottery thrives as an art form and its history is rooted in the Indus Valley Civilisation that flourished on the basin of the River Indus during 3300–1300BCE. In Kumhar Gram, however, pottery is seen as an occupation more than an art form.

“For us, pottery is our livelihood and a source of pride,” Mansingh says. “Our symbiotic relationship with the wheel is what defines who we are and what we do.”

Unlike the other potters in the village, Mansingh was a late bloomer; he took to the wheel only in his early 20s inspired by the works of his uncle, a national award winner. “My father was one of the few who had cast aside his traditional heritage and chose instead to become a mason. But as I grew up facing severe hardships caused by frequent years of drought, I found myself drawn to pottery as a means to help sustain my family.”

Most of the families here earn between Rs5,000 to Rs30,000 (roughly Dh300 to Dh1,800) a month, he says. Though lacking any formal training, some potters such as Gopalji have specialised in creating lifesize flowerpots and idols of deities and has his own workshop where he employs other potters to carry out the work.

Sanjay, 19, an undergraduate student who grew up with the wheel and the kiln, has taken to double-shaded miniature pottery to differentiate himself from the others. “My family has been making miniatures for the past ten years,” he says, “and I picked up the craft without any difficulty. We make glazed-effect objects in around 400 to 500 different shapes.”

A walk around Kumhar Gram is quite a heady experience. As you turn into the dusty lanes of the village, powdery black particles rise into the air from every corner. The roads are piled high with clay sourced from Jhajjar, a town in the Rohtak district of the neighbouring Haryana state.

The scent of fresh clay pervades the air and there is a bustle of activity in every street and courtyard. Inside every home you see potters crouched low with their spinning wheel in constant motion while women work in the heat of the blazing sun, keeping themselves busy with some process of pottery making. On these muddy lanes stacked with dry, wet or fired pots and lamps, and oblivious to the rickshaws and motorcycles that ply along, women start their day by beating up the raw clay with a wooden stick to remove lumps and make it even.

As a cloud of dust lifts into the air, 45-year-old Geetha Devi narrates how though women are central to the pottery business, tradition demands that they never work on the revered potter’s wheel. “It may be the men who throw in the pliant clay on the wheel to churn out everyday objects but it is the women members in every household who do the strenuous work of first pulverising the clay with a hard stick and sieving it through a fine mesh to keep out lumpy stones and other foreign material,” she says.

The sieved coarse clay is mixed well with water and left to soak for greater absorption. It is then kneaded either by hand or foot to the right consistency and further pounded by a wooden stick. “This procedure is crucial as the clay must be brought to malleable consistency,” Geetha Devi says. “What we look for is the right mixture of earth and water: too much water and it will not harden; too dry and there is the danger of breaking apart.”

After the objects are shaped off the wheel by the men, it is again mostly the women who lay them out in the hot sun and stoke the fires in the kilns for the men to bake the products. This division of labour, she says, has been followed since the very early times.

With all the children in Kumhar Gram now attending school and pursuing higher studies, it may be just a matter of time before this community of potters’ moves away from its more conservative stance and sheds the monopoly of the men over the use the wheel. Until such time, the women here are content with helping the male members and contributing in their own way to the family income.

Sangeetha Swaroop is a writer based in Dubai.

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Visiting Kumhar Gram

Reaching Kumhar Gram could be a tricky affair if you are not well versed with the areas surrounding Vikaspuri, off New Delhi. Not many residents claim to know of it either. A great alternative therefore is to book a tour with Piyush Nangru’s Indomania, which excels in offbeat cultural tours around the capital city. It was while collaborating with the South Asia Foundation (SAF) that Nangru chanced upon Kumhar Gram and hence a portion of the proceeds goes directly to the NGO. The main advantage of the half-day tour is that you get to mingle with the artisans, enter their homes and see how they live and work.

In 2007 when SAF first started working with the potters, there were no roads, drainage system, drinking water supply or medical facilities, says Rahul Barua, the secretary-general. “So, our immediate task was to organise these by putting pressure on the various government agencies and relentlessly following it up.”

Soon, the NGO began to organise regular medical camps, held many capacity-building and design-development workshops, linked the potters with nationalised financial institutions for credit support and got them registered in the office of the Development Commissioner (Handicrafts) as artisans. “We also took them to other clusters to enable them to see how these were functioning and have organised marketing events for them both in India and abroad,” Barua says.

SAF designed low-cost houses free of cost and distributed motorised wheels to enhance the potters’ productivity. The foundation is planning to start a community centre where skill upgradation programmes will be taken up.

SAF also encouraged the children to go to school through a door-to-door campaign that explained the merits of education. Today, more than 99 per cent of the children attend school regularly, Barua says.